Parchment
how long until my skin
becomes paper
thin as the crepe de chine
abandoned in the back of your closet
full of moth holes
forgotten after Senior Prom ’65
where once there was buoyancy
and the ability to reproduce
now the organism
withers and dies
starving
void of the nourishment
of human touch
if only you could
wrap it up in tissue
and send it to me special delivery
the words
‘handle with care’
stamped upon my battered flesh (instead of the box it arrives in)
and whispered in my brain
ad nauseam
like a broken record
daring you to heal
what was long since destroyed
by angry hands
Fat Bottom Girl Said What 